


again and again

by Notfye



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, F/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-11 05:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11707743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notfye/pseuds/Notfye
Summary: i.The first time, he doesn’t realize until years after they’ve moved into the realm of Too Late.





	again and again

**Author's Note:**

> I bring forth the reincarnation au that literally no one asked for but I will deliver anyway.
> 
> I didn't have a beta for this and I wrote it while fairly ill, so any and all mistakes are completely mine, and I apologize for them. All the same, I hope you enjoy.

i.

The first time, he doesn’t realize until years after they’ve moved into the realm of Too Late.

There is not much he can do about it now, not so long after she and everyone else are cold and gone and rotting away. He thinks, maybe, if he had woken up earlier, he’d be rotting with them now or much more alone. He thinks, maybe, he could’ve loved her.

He tries not to think about it very much. It makes his heart beat too fast and his chest feel hollowed out.

He never was good at keeping thoughts at bay.

 

ii.

They are not in France, but it is not as though he knows any better, of where he once belonged.

His country is at war; Promises of a short engagement and his friends all going off to fight for what’s right drives him to enlist.

It is not so bad at first, he thinks, but the war drags on and seems never-ending. Suddenly, it’s been two years and he’s surprised at how many of them are still standing, mostly unscathed.

He gets cut, once, deep and ragged on the side of his arm. The soldier who did it was fighting in a last, futile attempt to keep himself from death. Marius looks away from him when he dies, and rips a piece of the soldier’s shirt to tie around his arm until the battle is over.

When it has ended, he goes to the surgeon’s tent and waits until the sun has set and far after, long enough that even the creatures of dark that live in the forest next to the battlefield have gone to bed. It’s fair, he thinks, he’s not really gravely injured in comparison to some of the others.

Finally, though, the surgeon cleans his wound and sends him on his way to one of the nurses. Her hands are scarred and her eyes catch like onyx in the lantern’s light, tiny cracks of gold running out to the sides.

He does not know this girl but finds her immediately important anyway, decides right then that there’s something in those dark eyes of hers that he wants to keep for the rest of his days.

She finishes stitching his arm far sooner than he’d like, and he doesn’t stand up until she gives him a look that asks what he’s doing, still taking up her time when there are other soldiers who need it too.

He gets up awkwardly, the girl still staring at him with one eyebrow arched, and on a whim, he asks, “What’s your name?”

Her expression softens slightly, “Éponine.”

He smiles at her, and then smiles all the way back to his tent, and when one of his bunkmates asks what the hell he’s smiling about, he can only shrug helplessly.

He makes time for her after that, as much as he can, walks along with the medics when the camp is moving until he gets yelled at and goes to her when there isn’t any fighting going on. Her expressions get softer and if she’s tired enough, she’ll betray some secrets to him, and though he wants to know everything about her, he’s willing to wait. There is not much of his own to tell, his life has been simple, he didn’t necessarily need to enlist but did so anyway, and he’s not really sure if he regrets it or not. He starts thinking of her when he fights, letting his body go through the movements and his mind be somewhere else.

He kisses her, standing in the knee-high grass next to a dusty road that the infantry had been traveling on until twilight fell. He’s supposed to be helping with setting up camp right now, but he’s sure they won’t miss him for a few moments.

It is an odd feeling, he thinks, being happy again. He hardly recognizes it now.

She stands there, watching as he returns to his group, staring after him with an expression on her face that he can’t see, for the light coming from the remains of a sunset behind her.

It is harder to see her after that, with the extra layer of actually needing to be sneaking around. She would be thrown out of the collection of nurses that follow his infantry around if they were found out.

It’s secret, it’s hard, but for now, it’s enough.

It is not fair, when it happens. A stray bullet, that’s all, hits her right in the gut, and suddenly all the time he thought they might have had dwindles down to just seconds. He makes it to her side in moments, even he’s surprised at his speed, distantly, and he eases her down into his arms and the grass, already weeping with the blood of both sides.

She curls a hand around his face and nestles herself against his chest, looks up at him with tears and a watery smile, and kisses him one last time.

He stops really fighting after that.

 

iii.

They meet at a ball this time. She does not know entirely how she ended up here, and he thinks all that happens is very much like a fairytale, without the ending.

She is, for the night, beautiful and dressed more nicely than she’s been ever in her life, and gives no name to the young man who asks to dance with her.

They sneak out of the ballroom at some point, to walk around the grounds of the estate. The moonlight kisses the stones, and they sit together in the garden and talk for hours, while the party still rages on in the mansion.

The sun begins to rise, and he begs her to stay while she apologizes profusely and goes out the wrought-iron gates.

He goes out for days and weeks afterward, looking around for the girl that is slowly fading into a dream-like quality in his mind, no matter how hard he tries to hold on.

He is looking in the wrong places. She lurks in the alleyways of the bad parts of the city, he scours Uptown avenues until he decides that perhaps he just drank too much that night. But then, he sees someone with brown hair like the earth in the street and he can feel hope burn in him again.

 

iv.

Again, there is war, something just as repetitive as themselves.

They find each other before it happens, though, this time, and it seems to just be a small blot of unhappiness that will, God-willing, leave them be. They have a small life for themselves, an apartment that is better than what many of their friends end up with. The war comes, and it brings better work for her and worry for him, but it does not seem so entirely bad yet. They feel removed from it, for the time being.

Then, the draft notices come, and it feels more real, and terrible, and like she can no longer properly breathe. His face crumples, and then shifts back into place, stony, serious, determined.

They hold each other tighter after that, though neither acknowledges it, and accompany the other on unimportant errands. Keep as much of the time as they can.

He goes, and the letters go back and forth, though the tide of ink and paper slows with the war intensifying. It is, she thinks, a little like one of them has already died.

She thinks she feels it when it happens. Not in the way of pain, but one afternoon when she’s walking back from using what she needed of her ration tickets. She freezes in the middle of the sidewalk, doesn’t move again until a man bumps into her. She tries to shake the feeling to no avail, and isn’t entirely surprised when the telegram comes.

 

v.

She has always been clever, but now it is noticed and she is enrolled in a school for young, enterprising girls. It does not fit well on her, she thinks, but has been faking everything her whole life, and sees this as no different. Her classmates all treat her with the same flavor of restrained disgust overlaid with false kindness, and she can’t say it is unexpected. All the same, it is a good place for her, she thinks, whether it be to follow her parents’ instruction and steal from her classmates or to actually learn something.

There is a boy, though, from one of the boys’ schools that hers has heavily chaperoned social events with from time to time. He looks out of place in his own way, too; Soft and quiet where the others are rowdy and loud. He’s not necessarily away from the action, not off to the side of the group like an outcast, actually, close to the center of it, but not an active participant, apart from a small smile every now and then.

She’s curious about him right away, keeps an eye on him from the corner of the room, with not much else to do. Eventually, he comes over and she feels like she’s been caught doing something that she shouldn’t be, but his smile is easy and it soothes her nerves.  While they talk, he looks at her like she imagines he’d look at an old friend, and something in her cracks, a pane of glass with too much weight on it for far too long finally breaking away.

A part of her wants to cry, fall to the group and sob until there are no tears left. She’s thrown by this, as she’s many things, but a crier is not one. Another part feels like laughing, light and bubbly, and that doesn’t fit either. A final part wants to throw her arms around him and never let go because there’s something achingly familiar about him that she can’t place but wants so badly to remember.

It is a lot of emotions at once, and she’s never been good at dealing with those. Back in bed, later that night, she can’t seem to sleep.

They talk during the rest of the events that school year, and the next, and the year after they start going together, for all of that one and the next. Things are better than she had expected them to go so long ago.

College comes, sweeps him off to the Northeast and her to a small place in her hometown, and eventually, the letters stop coming from either of them.

 

vi.

Finally, they meet each other at a steady time, no more wars or twisted fairy tales, no uncertain and unusual circumstances. It is normal and bland in the best way, and God help him, because he remembers it this time, somehow. He remembers it all. It is wonderful and dreadful and he won’t let her slip away this time. Not again.

He does realize that, at the moment, they are too young and stupid to do anything right. He thinks it is better to wait now than to start and lose it all. He thinks that if they start now, they will not make it, but later, maybe. Hopefully.

It is hard, because almost every time, he has been the one to run off with her and his romantic ideals. It is not as though he doesn’t think they can have that, but he thinks that perhaps, this time, he should slow down. It is like swimming against the current, so unlike himself to act like this that he’s bending a part of what makes him _him_.

He knows that she loves him, and knows that it hurts the both of them when they dance around each other and date other people instead. But he’s sure that this is the right lifetime, and that someday, they’ll be ready. It will not be the same story, just an echo of it, and they’ll get it right this time.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want, you can follow me over on my tumblr, https://notfye.tumblr.com/, where I will always accept prompts for this couple, and if you really want to, comments and kudos are always dearly loved and appreciated. 
> 
> Also, I'm currently working on a much longer fic for these two, which I hope will be done soon but honestly who knows, so if you're interested in that, stick around!
> 
> And, as always, thank you for reading!


End file.
